Trust
by medicgirl
Summary: An old enemy returns with knowledge about Jack’s past, a serious grudge, and knowledge of the best way to make Jack Dalton suffer...


A/n: Okay, so this kinda long, angsty mess came from being stuck at a conference and trying so hard to stay awake while a speaker droned on and on about common sense stuff. It took its own left turn and is not at all the story I set out to write, so be on the lookout for another one that starts similarly in the next couple weeks. Thanks so much for all the reviews! They totally make my day! So please overlook any overdramatized silliness as my own indulgences.

As much as Jack Dalton hates to admit it, things tended to go south fairly often. Which was one of the reasons he was so thankful to have the kid on his team. On MacGyver's resume (if what they did was, in fact, capable of being put on a resume) it should just say in big bold letters "the one to have when things go south". He loved that about his boy, his best friend, his brother, and always trusted that he would find a way to save them, but it would never stop making his gut clench when he woke up tied to a chair and could look around and find Mac somewhere similarly bound. Even worse was the times like this, when he was tied to a chair with a thick rope fully clothed and saw Mac shirtless and barefoot with his wrists in manacles around a solid metal pipe in the ceiling, feet barely touching the ground. He was unconscious, head falling forward and disheveled blond hair covering his face, but seemed otherwise unharmed. The problem was that the kid looked much more vulnerable than Jack, and that never led anywhere good.

Without moving his head and giving away to anyone watching that he was awake, Jack carefully took stock of things. He also seemed unhurt, other than a slight stinging in his neck, just left of his windpipe. So, a drug of some sort… he couldn't remember anything between leaving work… well, whatever day he had last been there… and waking up here. So either a dart got him or someone got the jump on him with a syringe. He would bet money that Mac had a similar mark somewhere. The ropes around him were frayed and rough but still nearly an inch thick. No way he was breaking them, but once he scraped his wrists up enough to bleed some, the fluid might make them slick enough to escape. But that would take time, time he wasn't sure his friend had before things got ugly. Objectively, the kid's feet were free, so as long as his shoulders stay in their sockets he could fight some. He gritted his teeth hard. Why did they always pick Mac as the weakest link?! He guessed that if one didn't know that his two strongest traits, loyalty and stubbornness, were so deeply entwined that he would suffer through anything to protect anyone. Let alone what he would do to protect his team or the Phoenix. But if you didn't know that, he looked like a tall but skinny teenager that almost certainly played DD every weekend… Well, other than the teenager part… But that was beside the point. The kid was deceptively strong and exponentially tougher than he looked. But that didn't stop the hell Jack went through every time he couldn't redirect their captors focus.

Finally, audience or not, he couldn't wait any longer. "Mac!" He said, barely above a whisper, but definitely echoing in the concrete room. He stirred slightly, but not enough for Jack's liking. When calling his name again didn't wake him, Jack was starting to get concerned. But, his feet weren't tied very tight, so he scuffed his feet against the floor until his boot found a chip in the concrete. He carefully broke a tiny piece off and kicked it a his friend.

The chip bounced of Mac's abdomen, and he jerked awake, snapping his head up to take in as much as he could as quick as he could before wide blue eyes met Jack's, full of the usual questions. Where? How? Who? And most importantly, Are you hurt?

Jack tried to answer all that he could, but he had very few answers. "I'm ok, nothing hurt but my pride. They must have drugged us, I just remember waking up here." He winced as he saw the nearly black bruise on Mac's neck with a massive puncture wound in the middle. "Dude, does my throat look as bad as yours? Definitely tranq darts. You look like the Boston Strangler got ahold of you!"

Mac sighed. "Pretty sure the Boston Strangler only attacked women. And yeah. Looks like a close-range paintball hit. Anything else I need to know about?" His eyes roamed Jack's body, checking carefully for injuries.

"Nah, other than that I'm good. You?"

Mac experimentally flexed his joints, checking for trauma of his own. "Well, I'm dizzy and can't feel my hands, but other than that, fine."

"Kinda dizzy here, too, but I think it's the drug. Which is completely not fair!" He whined in an effort to break the tension, relax his partner enough to think clearly. That was their best shot. But Mac had already noticed the problem Jack hadn't thought of yet. Neither of them knew how long they had been there, and all the blood had flowed out of Mac's hands. If he couldn't use his hands, they were in serious trouble. And though neither he nor Jack had mentioned it, he was well aware of the difference in their positions. Part of him hoped his reputation had proceeded him and this was an extra security measure to keep him from wiggling out of ropes or handcuffs, the other part was thankful it was him in the more vulnerable position rather than Jack. He knew in his own way that it was cowardly, but he could take worlds of pain a lot easier than he could watch Jack suffering. Of course, that meant he knew what it would do to Jack, how close it had come to breaking him before, but that was the one thing Mac couldn't take. So, taking a deep breath, he prepared himself to stay as composed as possible, no matter what they did to him.

Keeping that resolve out of his eyes the best he could for now, he glances around, taking in all sides. The floor was solid but chipped and rough concrete, damp like an underground basement with bad drainage. The walls were solid cut stone, and he would have to be closer to see if there was mortar between them. A single light fixture hung from the ceiling, but it was at least ten feet up. Maybe if he could pull himself up on the pipe… but he couldn't tell if there would be enough slack in the chains to reach it, still. But if he could, and Jack could get out of his ropes or smash the chair somehow…

Before he could test the strength left in his arms or if he had enough leverage with his feet barely on the ground, the thick steel door opened with a cliched ominous creak. He thought for a moment that he might actually laugh at how much it sounded like a bad spy movie set, then figured that was still the drug talking.

Mac was facing the door and Jack was facing him, so Jack craned his neck trying to see whoever had just entered. Mac watched him carefully, but didn't recognize the tall, thin man with ice-blond hair and sharp Nordic features. Racking his brain for any recent missions that would piss off anyone of Scandanavian descent, but came up empty.

As usual, Jack spoke up first, both trying to gain information and keep the captor's focus on him rather than the kid. "Gotta say, I like the digs. A little damp for my tastes, and could definitely use a throw pillow or two, but it's got that old castle fe-" His voice cut off abruptly, levity dying on his tongue as he recognized the man.

Mac had seen Jack hurt, stressed, sick, drunk and badly hung over, had even seen him scared, but he had never seen the look of cold terror in his friend's eyes before that moment, not even in Cairo, not even in cases they had been absolutely positive they weren't going to make it out alive. It was equal parts gut-wrenching and and… well, frightening just didn't cut it. Jack wasn't afraid of dying, so whatever this man meant to do to them, it was going to be bad.

"You can't be here," Jack said in a completely shell-shocked voice. "You died in a Chech prison five years ago. My handler gave me a copy of the death certificate, one less threat on my list. We drank some good scotch to celebrate."

The man ignored Mac completely, stepping between the two men, his focus completely on Jack. "Anything can be bought for enough money, Mr. Stanton, including both prison guards and infirmary staff. And those who can't he bought still have their… shall we say, pressure points?" He smiled, his blue eyes a few shades darker than Mac's and infinitely colder. "Or do you prefer your real name now, Dalton?"

"Actually, I'd prefer not to think about you again, ever, except in my worst nightmares. But since you're not dead, and I'm here, why don't you let the kid go and put a bullet in my head like you've dreamed of for fifteen years? Put this behind you, start a new life. I mean, revenge can't bring them back, but if that's your plan…"

The man's face was flat, expressionless, as he stared at Jack like a particularly aggravating pest finally caught in a trap. "First of all, putting a bullet in your head was never the plan. I thought about it often, even had you in my scope once. It would have been so easy to pull the trigger and end you. But you don't deserve a quick end. In fact, I don't even think I'm going to kill you at all. I think I will leave that to you when I'm finished…"

Jack would no longer meet Mac's eyes, nor their captor's. A cracked spot on the floor was suddenly fascinating. "That's what you want? Ok."

"Jack, what the hell…?" Mac yelled, confused.

Ignoring the outburst, Jack looked up at him. "If that's what you want, I'll do it. Get him out of here, cut halfway through the rope, put one bullet and the gun on my lap. You'll be gone and I'll splatter my brains across that wall. You got my word."

When Jack finally met the kid's eyes, the hurt, fear and confusion he saw there made him flinch. But the kid had no idea… he had no clue just how evil this man is, or what Jack had done to him. Sure, missions went south, especially when you were young and sloppy, and sometimes good men do things they regret for the rest of their lives. Out of all the things he had done in his career, all the people in the world who use the name they knew him by as a curse, this was the thing that made Jack doubt his place on the "good men" part of the equation. Evan Swasson was definitely not a good man, but that didn't make Jack's mistake right. He knew what he had taken from him, and if the supposed "Businessman" wanted an eye for an eye, well, if it took him eating a bullet to stop that, he would beg for it.

Mac, on the other hand, had heard something he never wanted to ever consider again, so he decided to change the subject, Dalton-style. "Look, he is stronger than you know, so am I, and we aren't going to tell you anything. But we are really kinda past the whole super villain gloating, if you don't mind." Hoping to pull the man's attention away from Jack for a moment, he was disappointed when his outburst was ignored. "Jack, why does that always work for you but not for me?"

Jack looked away quickly, and said "Shut up, agent… The grownups are talking," in a sharp but dismissive tone, trying hard to distance himself from him in any way possible. It was probably too late, but he had to try. If he could convince this guy that Mac was just a co-worker...

Evan's smile deepened. "Now, is that any way to talk to your best friend? The boy you would lay down your life for, that probably goes to bed every night wishing you really were his father? The one you love over anyone else? Like you would a real son?"

Jack's Texas tan faded sharply as he turned pale at the word, and Mac's eyes widened. Of course he knew Jack cared about him, and how the hell did this stranger know the wish he would never speak out loud short of on a deathbed? But Jack really felt that way, too? So why did his expression say this man just gutted him? "Jack?" He asked tentatively.

If possible, the man's smile widened. "Aw, we've confused the poor boy! You want me to explain to him just the kind of man you are?"

Mac opened his mouth to make some defense of Jack, just like he did when he broke that soldier's jaw in the sandbox for calling Jack some particularly vile names, to tell this thug that Jack was a dozen times the man he would ever be, but stopped that train of thought in its tracks when he saw Jack's expression. There was no defiance, no fire. A look that Mac had only seen from a hospital bed when he was hurt and Jack blamed himself. But he could spot guilt on Jack Daltons face from a mile away.

Staring hard at the floor, Jack refuses to meet either of their eyes. "Can I? I swear I will tell the truth. He deserves to know before this goes any further."

"Of course," said their captor, his voice a mockery of politeness. "That would be even better! He won't doubt its true coming from you!"

Mac had heard enough, and stopped struggling with his manacles. "Jack, whatever you did, you had a good reason. Nothing in your past changes anything with us."

Jack sighed, looking almost literally sick. "Mac, I know you hate guns, and I know why you hate them. And you always say they are too easy to make a mistake with. To hurt someone you don't mean to. And what do I always say to that?"

Unsure where this was going, he said "You say you never miss. And it's true, I've been to the range with you, watched you show off for women with your sniper rifle, even saw you shoot an apple off a tree from forever away without so much as grazing the peel. I never worry about you missing!" Their captor snorted, and Mac had to clench his numb fists to keep from dislocating his shoulders to go after the guy. Hurting or killing them was one thing, but this bastard had no right to make Jack doubt himself!

Jack went on as if Mac hadn't spoken. "I tell you I never miss, and I spend hours a week at the range and practicing. I've dedicated myself to my aim, and yeah, I'm good at it. But do you know why it is so important to me?" Mac shook his head. "Well, kid, because once, early in my career, I missed. With horrible consequences." He dropped his head.

"Everybody misses, Jack! You weren't born able to shoot. You had to learn."

"Yes, well," Swasson put in, his grin fading as his face darkened with anger. "He should have learned to hit what he aims at long before he missed me! If he really intended to kill me to begin with. I'm not convinced he didn't miss on purpose."

Finally, a little bit of fire flashed in Jack's eyes. "I would never do that! 'm not like you! I don't murder innocents to protect my weapons trade!"

Cold, angry eyes stared into Jack's. "My son would have been seventeen this year. If you were able to make a simple shot. He would have been without a father, but I would have traded my life for his any day!"

Jack's eyes were as deadly cold as Mac had ever seen. Mac had seen him kill people in the line of duty, to protect their team, and enemy soldiers, but he had never seen Jack kill in pure anger. If his hands were free, there was no doubt now that this man would be dead. "You were the one who put your desk in front of the crib!"

Mac closed his eyes, gut-punched. Jack had missed the father... And had to live with the action for the rest of his life. It made him sick for his friend, and he had no idea how Jack lived with that. Not a bomb or air strike that had the potential to kill innocent children, but one bullet into a crib

Mac had heard enough, and stopped struggling with his manacles to seek Jack's eyes directly. "Jack, I don't care what you've done in the past! We've all done things hard to sleep with at night, that's just the job! I know the kind of man you are, it doesn't matter!"

For the first time, the man turned to face Mac, delivering one hard punch to his left cheek followed immediately by an uppercut to his solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs. Wheezing indignantly, he faced Swasson, covering the pain with a glare that would have frightened anyone who knew Mac well. If the guy was hitting him, though, he wasn't torturing Jack with his guilt over a horrible mistake. "Having fun?" He spit out at their captor. "Make you feel strong, hitting someone who can't fight back?" Trying his best to think of what Jack would say, because this was a trick he learned from him, he said "You want to fight, untie my hands. Afraid you can't beat a scrawny kid like me? You would never live it down if your people knew you were such a coward!"

Jack knew good and well what he was doing, and knew exactly where he learned it from… Mac had seen him do that more times than he could count. Was this how it made the kid feel? If it hurt him as bad as this was hurting Jack, he might have to have mercy on him next time and just let him take the punch! If there was a next time… "Mac, just shut up, okay? It's not gonna change anything, I'll just have to watch him hurt you more."

The resignation in Jack's voice was possibly the most terrifying sound he had ever heard, worse than any pain or heartbreak or sickness he had been there for. The person who would never let him give up until he pulled a miracle out of thin air had given up all hope of them getting out of here alive. That hit harder than any other blow he had received. He wasn't used to having to work alone, hadn't had to in years, but he still could. "I can take it, Dalton!" Mac yelled, sounding as much like the young EOD tech who had nearly broken his overwatch's jaw when he first met him as he possibly could. "I can take a punch as good as you can, old man!"

There was a flash in Jack's eyes at that, a spark of the fire back. He had put himself through another tour in the sandbox to protect this boy, and this was why. Damn kid had no self-preservation at all! "Well, I know that, Carl's Jr. You took a few of mine last time you talked to me like that!" The old annoying nickname told him all he needed. He wasn't alone in this. Now he just had to figure out how in the hell to fix this mess!

"Ok, we have had our Oprah moment, can we get back down to business?" Swasson asked, faking boredom. "I really just have so much to do, I can't quite draw this out as much as I would like, but I do intend to take my time…" He slowly and purposefully ejected the clip from his gun and counted the bullets, then produced two more clips and set them on the table beside Jack. "So, my son was only a year old, and took one bullet." He raised an eyebrow at Jack. "How old is your boy? Twenty-six?"

"Twenty-seven!" Mac corrected.

"Not helping!" Jack growled, seeing where this was going. He watched as Swasson slowly too three rounds out of the last ten-round clip and dropped them on the table one by one.

"Twenty-seven it is." Without preamble, he leveled the cheap, unmarked .9 mm at Mac and pulled the trigger.

Jack's stream of curse words and insults to Swasson's wife, mother, and a sexual preference for animals almost drowned out the yelp of surprise and pain Mac felt as fire tore through the far right of his chest. It was too far over to do major damage, but between the actual bullet and the rib splintering as it went through, it was remarkably painful. He lost the support of his feet for a moment and all his weight on his wrists. Slightly more prepared for that he was before, he managed to clamp his jaw shut before it turned into an actual scream.

All of the fight Jack Dalton had ever had slammed back into him in an instant when the bullet bit into Mac. Fresh blood was dug to the surface of his wrists as he struggled. He had no clue what he was going to do, had not even the sliver of a plan they usually start with, just blind fury at someone causing his boy pain. He had made a terrible mistake, had done something he tried hard to keep buried and while he knew he had hurt this man badly, it didn't give him the right to make an innocent kid who didn't even shave when it happened suffer for it! His eyes blazing, he stared down Swasson. "Put those other three bullets back in the gun. Hell, I might even have an extra clip on me somewhere. Empty every single one into me. You know where to hit that I'll suffer plenty before I die. Let the kid go. This is between you and me."

Swasson seemed to contemplate that for a moment. "You are right on one thing. I do know where to hit to cause the most pain." He fired again, this time tearing a hole through the outside of Mac's left thigh, just below the hip.

Trying with everything in him to keep from crying out, knowing what this was doing to Jack and trying not to make it worse, he knew he failed when his leg gave out and the pull on his arms set his chest on fire from the last shot.

Jack wished Mac would just yell or scream or swear or something. Anything would be better than the choked whimper that came out of him. "I'm so sorry, Mac! This one isn't even your fight!"

Blood had soaked both sides of his pajama pants as blood oozed from the wounds. The close range had left some powder burns on the skin, but the heat from the bullets had actually slowed the bleeding by partially cauterizing some of the smaller vessels. It burned like acid set on fire, but it gave him a little more time. Time for them both to suffer, but hurting was better than dead. Maybe someone could find them. Maybe Jack's renewed efforts to break free would pay off. Or-

His eyes widened as he shifted a little in the metal around his wrists. No way it could be that simple. "Jack!" He exclaimed urgently. "If I'm gonna die here, I have to tell you thanks for what you did for me in Budapest two years ago. When those arms dealers had us. We couldn't have gotten out without you."

Swasson has turned to face Mac, so he didn't see the confusion on Jack's face. He knew Mac had a plan or the start of one, but Budapest had been all Mac. He hadn't done anything but- OH…

Mac saw the moment Jack understood and smiled. He nodded to Mac and said "You don't have to thank me for Budapest, Hoss. I was just doing what I'm good at. But yeah, that was good times. I still can't believe how big of an explosion you made out pieces of a grenade and a bottle of whiskey! Man, those gun runners sure were pissed!" He laughed, and Mac smiled, as that explosion had been in Chile, but it didn't matter. Swasson turned back to Jack. "Sounds like you two has quite an adventure! Tell me, if I let you live, would you be able to go back to what you do without your boy genius to keep you alive? Or would the fear be too much for you?"

Jack pretended to consider it. "Well, I would probably have to retire, but not because of fear. Sadness, probably. And I'd probably drink too much and become a liability. But maybe I would end up back in the army… I mean, I'm not that old. I mean, too old to train, yeah, but I've already learned all the tricks this old dog can learn. Besides-"

He cut off abruptly, his rambling no longer needed as a distraction as the younger man lunged at Swasson from behind, wrapping the chain that still hung from his right wrist around their attacker's throat. Pain and blood loss put him at the disadvantage, but not enough to override the adrenaline, anger, fear, and sheer stubbornness.

Swasson was taken completely by surprise, and fell face-first to the floor, firing off two shots before dropping the gun to clutch at the chain Mac held tightly around his neck. Jack could do nothing but watch, yelling encouragement to his friend and struggle uselessly. Mac was silent, focused on the grip he had on the chain and keeping enough control over the pain to not lose his hold.

Slowly, after what seemed like hours, their captor's struggles ceased. Not taking the risk of him faking, Mac held on tight for another full minute before releasing the chain. Swasson didn't move, and Jack could see the relief in the relaxing of Mac's shoulders as he checked for a pulse. He turned back to Jack, with exhaustion, pain, and relief in his wry grin. The same look Jack had seen so many times. Bolivia. Budapest. Cairo… The look that said 'damn, this sucked, but we made it!' Jack couldn't help but return it.

Mac struggled to his feet and limped over to the chair. "You hurt?" He asked as he tried to untie the ropes, but dropped his left hand to his side with a hiss.

Jack stared at him for a moment. "Okay, not that I'm complaining but how in the hell did you do that?!"

Mac shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I gotta go see if this guy has a knife somewhere."

As he turned away, Jack felt his stomach turned to ice. The kid wouldn't look at him. What if after he knew what Jack had done, saving them both was the end of it? Could he not even stand to look at him? "Mac, please…"

"I'll be right there, I just have to find something to cut you free with." His voice sounded irritated, and he was swearing under his breath.

The hurt Jack felt in that moment topped anything Swasson could have done to him physically. Mac had just saved his life but couldn't even look at him. He watched the kid dig through the dead man's pocket, looking for something sharp. Of course, getting free from the ropes was a priority, but he had to know what would happen next. "Mac, please, just look at me for a second, okay? Then if you want you can just go, call the cops or something to cut me loose, but I need-"

That got his attention. "Jack, you damn well know I'm not gonna…" His voice trailed off, finally meeting Jack's eyes, and getting it. "Wait, you really don't know?!"

The tear tracks were nearly dry on his face, but fresh ones swam in his eyes. "Mac, if you can't be around you anymore, I understand. You can just get out of here and tell someone where I'm at. I deserve that and worse, and-"

Mac tilted his head to the side. Conversationally, he said "Did you hit your head or anything?"

"What? No, I just-"

With that, Mac sat the empty cuff on the arm of the chair and swatted his friend in the back of the head. "Don't ever say anything like that again. Ever, got me? Jack, I told you, I know you. You're my brother, my best friend, the closest thing I have to family. Nothing you have or could do would change that. Kinda hurts that you would even think I would do that to you!" He put his hand back on the back of Jack's head and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I would never leave you behind, ever, no matter what. Ever. Got me? You go kaboom…"

"I go kaboom," Jack finished. "So, uh, why don't you just untie me?"

Mac winced. "I… uh… can't. Remember how I told you it didn't matter how I got loose?" He held up his left hand, free from the metal restraint. His thumb set at a very wrong angle, and the whole hand was the size of a softball. "There's only one way out of cuffs if you can't pick them or break them…"

Just looking at the mangled hand hurt. Jack didn't know why he didn't realize that before now. "You gotta break your hand… Ouch…"

Mac nodded. "Yeah, kinda. Took me some time to get the right leverage or I would have managed sooner. So I gotta go find something sharp. I can't untie you with one hand."

"Right," said Jack, still pulling at the ropes. Even with the bad guy dead, he hated being restrained.

Mac looked him in the eye, trying desperately not to feed Jack's newfound insecurity. "He doesn't have a knife, or anything I can use. I can either go search this place and come back and cut you loose, or I can stay with you and try to saw through them with this," he said, holding up the still locked metal hanging from his wrist. "I don't want to leave you alone, but that could really take a while…"

Sincerity shone from his bright blue eyes, and though Jack wanted so badly to tell him to stay, that it would just have to take a while, he also knew Mac had been shot. Twice. And if the kid still trusted him, it was only right that he keep trusting him as well. Mac wouldn't leave him. He knew that, and so he nodded to the kid who had saved his life more than a dozen times. "Go. Find something, get me loose and let's get you to the hospital before you pass out on me."

Mac nodded, and turned toward the door, limping only a little. Halfway there, he turned back towards Jack, an impish grin on his face that told the whole story of their friendship. "Now, you just stay put til I get back, ok?"

Jack glared at him, but couldn't deny that Mac had gotten pretty good at stealing his lines. And some of his best jokes… "Smartass!" He growled. Mac snorted a laugh, and hurried off to find something to cut Jack loose with. But he would be back. Jack knew that as well as he knew the sun would rise. It was just one of the facts. Grass is green. The sky is blue. Humans need oxygen. Mac will never abandon him. No matter what.


End file.
